Affection
by Ginny Perry
Summary: N loses his grip on logic as his isolation grows. Ghetsis/N CONSENSUAL yaoi and plenty of psychological angst. Read the warnings, please.
1. Chapter 1

I can't quite remember how this fic's idea came to be. I think I was prompted Stockholm syndrome and I personally wanted to attempt to write something deeply psychological and (GASP) _consensual _for once. So, as much as this pains you to hear it, this Ginny fic does NOT contain rape. The main juicy parts are consensual. But even though they are consensual, is it still rape? I mean, if it is caused by extensive mental conditioning and manipulation but it is willed, can it really be called consensual sex?

Yeah, uhh, if you couldn't tell by my failed attempts at philosophical rhetorical questions, this fic is so psych-intensive that it's fucking _my _mental capacities and reasoning. And I _wrote_ the damn thing, and am currently working towards a Master's degree in a psychology-driven medical field. Have fun with this one.

Ohh yeah, the warnings... uhh, there's incest and buttsex between two dudes. One is pretty old, one is barely a legal adult. So if that don't tickle your fancy, you might want out. But I know it does so I'll shut up now and let you read it.

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><p>He craved approval. Affection. Living in a place so isolated, cut off from barely any contact, N longed for interaction of his own kind, even if he did not realize it. While his pokemon friends sometimes kept him company, it somehow did not fill the void. Something instinctual clawed at him: the desire for human touch.<p>

His solitude made matters worse. That, and his father. Ever since N was a small child, Ghetsis had been abrasive and unloving. Nearly every touch he could remember had left marks on his skin. Bruises, scars, welts. And pain. The man gave him an explanation every time, its twisted logic becoming so routinely heard that N knew no better. _The more it hurts, the more it means I love you. I only hurt you because I love you, dear N._

Love must be that comforting feeling you get when you feel someone else's hands on you, even if it hurts. He says it so softly, so calm and soothingly, after you are bleeding or crying from the pain. Your body forces those tears out because it can't handle the discomfort; there is no control. And even when it's awkward to color with your nondominate hand because your right hand is too mangled to hold the crayon, somehow remembering how it happened is comforting. Daddy cared enough to hurt me today. He loves me a lot. Those thoughts supersede any pain.

N sat cross-legged in the middle of his bedroom floor, examining an intricate city of blocks he had just constructed. He had built it without much aim in mind, but this fact alone puzzled him. There had to be some sort of unconscious structure. The designation of streets, the placement of buildings. The mathematical theories N had read about told him there was a specific, intricate mathematical formula behind this. The simple philosophy of determinism denies the existence of randomness. Logic said there had to be something explainable behind his choices.

All of those books on theories and philosophies and logic... they fascinated him. But at the same time, he struggled to find logic in his own existence. N had been thinking about his father while building those blocks, something that stirred up emotions and racing thoughts in the boy. He had not seen him in an unusually long time and could not quite determine what he ought to feel about it. His emotions were volatile, and N failed to ever find a predictable course for them. Perhaps the theory of Aristotelian realism was not as credible as he had once thought...?

N missed Ghetsis. Even though he had injured him severely in the past, he had been taught that it was how humans showed their affection. He owned no books on the philosophies of man or society. All he knew was this vast castle full of uncaring people, mentions of far away cities and this brightly-colored room. Sans his permanent scars, N noticed that he had no fresh marks anywhere on his body. His father had not hurt him in quite some time.

He must have done something to upset or anger him.

Fed up with his own flaws, N jumped to his feet and kicked at the stacked blocks he had been aligning for days. A tower fell, toppling over smaller structures with it, scattering hundreds of wooden cubes across his floor. Tears grazed his cheeks; it felt empowering. All his work collapsing under his feet in mere moments. Impermanence... a concept that angered him. Nothing tangible was infinite. Not life, not objects, not ideas or dreams or desires or...

Touch. Contact. Comfort. It seemed to be over just as it began. It frustrated N as the boy continued to topple over hours of precise stacking, the sounds of it crashing bringing a strange condolence to his aching heart. How could he be so _stupid_? He didn't even know why he had upset his father, but just knowing he had failed made the suffering worse.

N just wanted Ghetsis to touch him again... he didn't care how much it hurt. His father didn't even have to tell him how much he loved him. He would deal with the temporary pain. N could think of nothing more than his affection as the last tower was now littered across the carpet, knocked to the floor by the blow of his foot.

Standing, panting, half-sobbing, N looked upon the sea of brightly-colored blocks that now rest at his feet. Impermanence. So much work to build an elaborate city... a simple kick to bring it to nothing. So much work to be intelligent, quiet, obedient, orderly, rewarded by a moment of attention and the feeling of success... a simple absence to force him back to imperfection. His father would be so disappointed with such a pitiful display of his lack of control of his emotions. They were unnecessary. He couldn't do anything right...! He couldn't please his father, and was going to be forced into madness from this bitter isolation...!

He couldn't force himself to care about logic anymore. N surrendered to his impulses as he open his wardrobe and quickly changed his clothing, slipping on a thin cotton robe. He tried a sash around his waist with careful precision. After brushing his hair in a frenzy in an attempt to appear well-groomed, the boy left his room without any second thoughts or glances. N paced down the lavish hall as quickly as his legs would allow him.

N opened the large door to his father's bedchamber, the hinges creaking as he stepped in and shut it behind him. The boy's footsteps echoed off the cold tile and through the high, extravagantly-painted ceilings. N had only been in this room a handful of times in his entire life and was always astonished by its baroque charm. It radiated luxury. His father had fine, expensive tastes, and no expense went unpaid.

Ghetsis sat at his writing desk against the wall of the room, his hands furiously scribbling down notes. N stood to his side but was not acknowledged. Apprehensive, N stared out the large paned window in front of which the desk sat. He _had _to speak, but it became difficult to force the words out. When he realized that he was being ignored, he managed.

"Ghetsis?" N squeaked, his voice barely below a whisper.

"You know better than to disturb me when I'm working." Ghetsis did not cease his writing; his pen flicks seemed to come more harshly with every completion of a scripted word. His venomous words caused the boy to flinch.

He swore could feel his heart beating against his ribcage as he thought about what was about to happen. This was so illogical. It made no sense. N was being driven by his emotions again, a feeling he never quite understood. Thinking about his father's hands touching him drove him nearly mad. It had been days, or weeks, months even... he didn't know, but it seemed like forever, and he craved it... he needed to feel it again, to be held and hurt and needed and _loved_ and-

N's hand swiftly yanked at the sash of his robe he had tied so meticulously, dropping it as the rest of his gown floated carelessly to the floor. His father stopped writing as he set his gaze upon his son's naked form. The boy's body was trembling slightly as he attempted to keep a stoic face. Still, his apprehension shined through the cracks of his broken facade. Ghetsis's eyes narrowed as one side of his mouth curled up his cheek.

He wasted no time. Grabbing his son by his thin shoulders, the man threw the younger back onto the surface of the desk. Papers fluttered about and a half-empty glass of red wine was knocked to the floor.

Roughly, he ran his hand up N's heaving chest, his hands running over his jutting rib bones. N's breath hitched as he traced over his nipples. The larger man reached his clavicle and then wrapped his fingers around his son's throat, forcing him back against the hard wood.

"You spilled my wine," he whispered into the younger man's ear. His voice seemed irritated, but the blow that often accompanied this tone was not dealt. N felt a thigh kneading gently over his now half-hard erection, quickly causing the limb to stiffen even more under the touch. "Now tell me N, what could possibly be so important that you'd disobey orders and interrupt my work to tell me?"

N opened his mouth to reply, but it was silenced by his father's lip pressed roughly against his own. One of his hands held the child to the desk while the other trailed to the opening in his robes, freeing his already fully-erect member. Within moments, N felt Ghetsis's tongue invade his half-parted mouth. It probed furiously as he crushed his lips against him.

N had no experience in mutual pleasure; experimentally, he flicked his tongue against his father's, which elicited an almost animalistic growl from him. It was like a signal for him to speed his assault. Ghetsis rubbed his cock against his son's, his hipbones grinding against his own, the sensation of skin against skin causing mounting pleasure in N's shaking body.

Ghetsis's touch in the past... it never _didn't_ hurt, even though N was able to tolerate the pain to satisfy his primal need for contact. But this touch didn't hurt. It wasn't even neutral. It felt _good_. N wondered if this was simply because he had been starved of it for so long, or if his extreme solitude had altered his perceptions, or if the initiation of...

He didn't care to search for the logic any longer. All he wanted now was _more_.

That familiar craving of touch was stronger than ever, now coupled with the almost burning-like sensation he felt between his legs. His erection was throbbing at the same rhythm of his racing heartbeat as Ghetsis wrapped his hand between their grinding cocks. His bony fingers rubbing the edge of his head as it jerked them... the friction of his father's length pulling at his foreskin and tugging at that sensitive ridge of nerves... N's face flushed a deeper shade of crimson as he moaned audibly for the first time.

Ghetsis was perplexed by this sudden change in his son. Whenever he'd become this intimate with him, N would often fight back or whimper. He liked the challenge, the fight he'd put up for him. It made the sex more enjoyable for him. Ghetsis never bothered with foreplay; he didn't care if N felt good, and it wasn't necessary to get him off.

But this time, N was eager for it. It almost seemed more arousing than having to force him.

"You seem to be enjoying this," his father purred, breaking off their sloppy kiss. "Is this what you came in to disturb me for?" His hand skillfully wrenched faster, and N cried out again in uncontainable pleasure. Ghetsis's question was rhetorical, but N felt obligated to answer him.

"I... I-" He did not get far with his words as lips crashed against his once more. Ghetsis's tongue flicked wildly in his mouth; his own inexperienced tongue caressed back with as much spirit as he could possibly manage.

The contact between their bodies became too much. N gasped and shut his eyes tightly, interrupting their kiss, as he was sent into a shuddering climax. White release coated Ghetsis's hand as he pumped his son through his orgasm, smiling with nothing but lust in his eyes. The sounds of N's mews of unfamiliar pleasure had grown maddening. He could no longer hold back.

Ghetsis released the younger man from his grip momentarily, causing him to fall back again onto the messy surface of his work desk. He panted heavily as a look of satisfaction and serenity washed over him. Ghetsis looked down one last time at his heaving child. His gorgeous hair fell around him wildly; his cheeks were still a warm shade of pink.

The man gripped his son by a handful of his hair, tearing the boy to his feet. Quickly, he spun him around and threw him back to the desk. Ghetsis stroked himself while he aligned with N's entrance, covering himself with the release still left on his hands.

"Is this what you wanted?" he hummed, his voice sultry and smooth. "Yes, you wanted me to fuck this little ass of yours... why else would you be so hard?"

Ghetsis forced his way into the boy's unprepared body, wrenching an unwavering cry from his throat. N bit down hard on his lip as he attempted to adjust to the hardness inside of him. But it _hurt_. His father made no attempts to be gentle as he began plummeting into him, pulling N's hair back as he chuckled.

"You like this," he grunted between pants, attempting to humiliate the child. "I can tell by the beautiful way you tighten up around my cock... _god_, you're perfect, N... you're so fucking _perfect_..." N's heart beat faster at the words.

Ghetsis could still not process the situation that was occuring; he never expected his son to want this. But regardless of whether this had been in the plan, it was certainly a change he was willing to accept. However, he still wanted to degrade him as much as he could. Ghetsis took pleasure in the affliction of abuse.

He had grown accustomed N's cries, the sounds he made as he bit into the pillow forced against his face as Ghetsis had his way with him. The older man had been busy these past few days and had not seen his son; the separation only made his body seem more fresh, more beautiful and unscathed. Old marks had faded. No ugly bruises covering his pale flesh, a nice reminder of his power but still so dreadful to look at. No, this was like fucking him for the first time. Ghetsis felt the rush he had experienced that first time so long ago. He could barely contain himself.

After a minute of agony, N was able to relax himself enough to ignore most of the pain. Instead of thinking about the tearing intrusion of his body, he focused on his father's touches. The nails of Ghetsis's left hand yanked so strongly on his locks, it forced his neck up and focused his gaze on the window in front of him. But he couldn't concentrate on the setting sun in front of him; he was relishing the feeling of his father's skin on his own, the rubbing of his own arousal shoved awkwardly against the desk, tugging and pulling at the sensitive surface.

The stabbing pain his father was inflicting was soon ignored. All he felt now was an overwhelming sensation of comfort and pleasure. N moaned in bliss as his hands balled into fists, crying out with every rhythmatic thrust into his mistreated body. He saw stars as Ghetsis's erection grazed over the sensitive spot inside him, not quite stimulating him fully. He grew desperate.

"Hah... p-please...!" he wailed, his hands balling into fists so hard, his knuckles flushed white. "I... I need..." Ghetsis grabbed N's wrists and yanked them back, pulling at them to get even deeper into him. His cries delighted the man in the most primitive of ways. The burning pleasure began radiating through him. But he was not satisfied with this display. He demanded more.

"You're insatiable," he teased. His grip around N's wrists tightened as his pelvis slammed into the young man's backside. Whines and delighted cries continued to pour out of N, unrestrained. He began forcing himself back against his father, trying so ruthlessly to find as much sensation as he seeked. Ghetsis noticed this and made a conscious effort to prevent himself from stimulating his prostate. "Beg me for it, and perhaps I'll be merciful..."

"Please, daddy, I- ahh!" With the second word, a wave of intense revelry wracked his entire body and he shuttered madly. "Please, I need more! P-Please...!" Tears fell from his cheeks, whether in pain or embarrassment or sheer sensory overload, he could not determine for himself. He was so wrapped up in the feeling, the touches and their movements... the sound of his father's skin meeting N's own as he pushed into the assault, his movements awkward yet maddening, so unskilled and yet so automatic.

"I'm... I can't, please, just...!" N lost all dignity as he cried out, pleading with the man. "I... I can't...!" The sensations mixed into a great swell of energy as N felt his muscles contract tightly, then release all at once. His bruised member spilled his seed across the desk below him. N's ragged voice cried out once more in orgasm, then became nothing more than desperate pants as he rested his head on the desk. He was exhausted, and yet father was not finished with him.

Ghetsis dug his nails into the child's wrists as his jabs became more erratic. After having little time to enjoy his release, N's mind began processing the pain for what it was, and the invasion was now excruciating. Still, he relished the feeling. Accepted it. N was happy to welcome the discomfort. The tears were not conscious. He was grateful for his father's touches, and continued to remind himself of his care as Ghetsis finished off inside of him.

His wrists were released, and N remained laying naked bent over his father's desk. After Ghetsis composed himself, he fell back into his chair, sighing and looking up towards the ceiling.

"Leave," he simply stated. N knew not to question.

N touched one of his wrists as he began walking towards the door, a slight limp in his step. The nail marks did not break the skin. He wondered if he had any bloodied scratches that would possibly scar; he half-hoped there were. The feeling of isolation began washing over him as he realized it was over so quickly.

Ghetsis made no habitual mention of the word "love" as the boy exited.

But N knew he loved him. The warmth of blood trickling down his thigh was all it took to realize it.


	2. Chapter 2

I wrote this for my good galpal Ghosty because she gets a boner for psychological stuff.

THERE IS NO SEX IN THIS CHAPTER but it's angsty and delicious. 

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><p>N couldn't remember how he had gotten here or what thought processes went through his mind when he somehow decided this was logical. Somehow, in the back of his mind, something screamed about the senselessness of it all. And somehow, he managed to ignore it.<p>

Here he was again. Same position, different room. N stood in front of his father, who sat silently reading a novel in his large armchair. The fire crackled next to them as neither made a sound. Seconds past; the man turned the thick paper as he moved on in the book, eyes darting back and forth as they scanned printed letters, not once leaving the page to acknowledge his son.

That night not so long ago still burned in his mind. Had it been night? Morning? N had no concept of time anymore, and even as he recalled the sun setting behind the trees through that large window, N _still_ couldn't deduct the time.

All he could remember was his father's hands on him. They left no marks, but were so permanently scarred into his mind, so much so that N swore he could feel them on him again as he laid down to sleep at night.

He needed them again, almost stronger than he needed them before. He wanted to please his father. He wanted out of his isolation.

But most of all, he wanted to know he was loved again.

After several moments, the child could wait no longer. The buckle of his belt clanked as it hit the marble floor still tangled in his pants loops, clanking once more as they were kicked aside and discarded. He didn't even bother with his turtlenecked shirt.

After waiting another few moments, he spoke, unable to contain his frustration.

"Ghetsis," he said softly, just as he had the previous day.

"You know what I have told you before. Do not bother me while I am-"

"I can't wait any longer!" N shrieked, his trembling palms balling up into fists as he cried out. "Please, I... I want you to touch me!" Ghetsis's grip on the book tightened but he still did not look up from the page as tears began running down the child's cheeks.

N felt desperation swell up in his chest. He _needed _this. He wanted it just like before. He _craved _his father's caress, his tongue dancing in his mouth as if to swallow him whole. The mix of pain and pleasure as he forced his way into him, so uncaring and yet so purposeful. N could think of nothing else.

His carelessness got the best of him. He crawled onto Ghetsis's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck, looking up at his father with such pleading eyes.

"Please, please Ghetsis..." he murmured, rubbing his barely-hard member against his abdomen. "I want it so bad... please...!"

At last, his father reacted. With one hard shove, the man forced his son to the floor as he stood up over him. N felt a surge of adrenaline as he anticipated the assault, his limbs trembling from both apprehension and slight fear. It was going to happen again; would he be gentle this time, he wondered? Would he act so frantic, so needy, like he had before? Rough, but at the same time, loving, as if N's very existance was all he craved; such contrast to the man's typical stoic, indomitable air, making the seemingly out-of-control manners so much more... genuine, so much more true and sincere and-

"Get out," Ghetsis snarled, pointing to the entranceway to the room. He turned around on the heel of his foot and began walking towards another doorway.

N froze momentarily, taking time to let what he had said to sink in. What... had he done wrong? He thought Ghetsis wanted this, too... it had seemed that way before. He did everything he did before to win his father's affection; granted, N had been more vocal this time, but...

N's thought processes came to a halt as he struggled to his feet and chased after his father, throwing his arms around his waist, clinging tightly. He was losing control, now. He could feel his desperation rising.

"Please daddy, I-" A swift blow to his ribcage knocked him to the floor, gasping for air as he had the wind knocked out of him. His father turned to him and his gaze burned a hole through N's heart.

"You are repulsive," Ghetsis snapped, snarling at his son who did not rise again. "How am I to find you worthy to be called king? You cannot even contain your own lustful desires. _Disgusting_. You are a pathetic excuse for a son. An utter disappointment."

Tears fell again from N's eyes as he brought his hands to his face, attempting to cover his shame and distress. The words seemed to burn deeper than any of his past wounds. He had tried so hard, he wanted to please his father, but...

"Do not _ever_ come to me without permission. You are not allowed to see your friends for as long as I see fit. Perhaps a bout of solitude will allow you to reflect on your imperfections."

_Imperfections_. The word was spat out like a forbidden one, a word N _knew _his father could not help but seethe. N used what little courage he could manage and dropped his hands to his sides, looking up at the man who so obviously despised him. If he could just show him he wasn't so worthless...

"I just..." he whispered through hiccuped sobs, watching his father's face distort into deeper rage at the sound of his voice. "I just wanted you to... to touch me again, daddy..." In mere moments after he choked out his last word, a shoed foot collided with his cheek, cracking teeth and bone as his frail body slid across the floor. The metallic taste of copper at the back of the boy's throat was taken as a sign of his failure. He would not attempt to speak again.

N waited until he knew his father was gone. He did not know how long he laid there on the floor, holding back the urge to cough as he felt blood pool in his mouth. He'd rather choke to death than hear more reprimand from his father, seeming to be spurred on by any sound or word he spoke.

The child felt the liquid reach his lungs as he stood up, and he gagged as he hacked blood from his chest and onto the floor. Crimson stained the snow-white flooring and fabric as it splattered onto his pants, half-forgotten as a crumpled heap. _Repulsive_.

As he caught his breath, N reached down and took his boxers, darkened only by a droplet of scarlet, and slipped into them. After looking at his pants for a moment, he decided against them. They were stained. Contaminated. White cloth on white skin on white floor, all tarnished and dirty and _imperfect_.

N slowly exited the room, stumbling slightly as the blow to his head dizzied his vision. He wanted to say goodbye to his friends before they were forced to leave. It was heartwrenching. Where did they go when they were gone? He could only hope they weren't harmed; guilt flared in his chest.

As his fingertips wrapped around the doorknob to his bedroom, he fought back tears. No, he couldn't cry. He _couldn't_. He wouldn't allow them to know something was wrong. He couldn't let them know they were going to be taken away because of him. The shame would be too much. It would be all his fault. Attempting to maintain a normal front, N quickly opened the door.

"Zorua, Daru, I-" The boy paused when he realized his solitude. They were already gone. Now, the vast emptiness and silence of the room was overbearing, like a weight pushing down on his body.

N fell to his knees, unable to accept reality.

"I just wanted to do something _right for once_!" N screamed, his voice reaching no ear but his own. "Why can't I ever be good enough? I just... I just want him to love me! Why is that wrong?"

N fell to his knees and wept, weaving his fingers through the hair at his scalp and ripping at the locks. Emerald eyes shut tightly as he screamed, the sensation of his hair being pulled from its roots barely phasing him. This... this made no sense... why couldn't he control his actions?

"I hate you!" he wailed. "I hate you so much!" Letting go of his head and dropping the clumps of hair torn out, he wrapped his arms around himself. "You couldn't make daddy love you!" Tears poured down his cheeks as his nails embedded into his flesh, tearing along his ribcage. N continued to claw at his wounds, shredding and deepening the gashes, the resistance of bone allowing little mercy to the mutilation. The pain wavered and stung like a hot burn throughout his torso. Skin and blood caked under his fingernails as they tore at any remaining scrap of himself.

"You'll always be _wrong_!" Standing up momentarily, N threw himself into the pile of blocks that littered the floor that he had never bothered to clean up. He didn't care anymore. The cubes dug awkwardly into him, splintering and bruising his aching flesh. He grabbed handfuls of them and launched them aimlessly. Wood cracked as it impacted the wall, bouncing off the carpetting and the halfpipe.

The destruction of the small symbols of his childhood bore no weight. They no longer were of comfort to him. The years of building homes and towers and cities with worn blocks, always torn down by the wrath of his father. Daddy didn't care about them. Daddy didn't care about the imaginative worlds that N so diligently dedicated himself to. The worlds he tried to escape to.

No, daddy didn't want him to escape. He wanted him here, now, no matter how young or tired or sick or hurt he was, screaming as his cheek was ground into the carpet, bleeding and staining everything he touched as he spread his defect, the taint, the flaw of his very existence.

The gashes to his sides singed as he curled himself into a ball on the floor. The pain... it was all he could concentrate on. Realizing he once associated it with love from the source, N began questioning the logic. He caused this out of hate; pure, unadulterated hate. He harbored no love for himself, and yet this pain was no where near the intensity of some of his father's harsher inflictions. Beatings with a crop, blows to the face, broken ribs and limbs that took months to heal... the familiar tearing of flesh when he entered him, forcing every nerve in his body to scream out and every hair to stand on end, so intense that his breath could not be caught...

Did daddy... hate him more than he hated himself?

N put his thumb in his mouth, the taste of metallic blood and salty skin lingering on his tongue. It was somehow primally comforting to him, but his thoughts did not cease. His confusion only made his self-loathing grow. Books, logic, hours of studying did him no good. Even after all the work he put into trying to be what his father wanted, he could not be farther from it; he could not even conclude the reasoning behind something so simple as physical pain.

After minutes of calming himself down, the child struggled to stand on his feet. The wounds on his abdomen were still fresh, leaking blood and lymph to soak into his shirt. The stinging of the cotton entangling into the open gashes caused such fiery pain. _I deserve this, I deserve this, I deserve this_, N repeated to himself over and over again.

The dizzied boy reached a pile of stuffed toys that he would sometimes hold to help him fall asleep. They were all of pokemon, although he did not recognize some of them. He no longer wanted to think; it only brought more doubt and hatred. N's safeplace in his mind had been long destroyed, and the only solace he now found from the horrors of reality were in the embraces of slumber.

Before picking one up, he stopped and stared at them. Their faces were all smiling and loving, their eyes plastic beads but still seemed so full of life. N bit his lip as he felt emotions flare up in him again, causing the tears to return once again. They were _mocking_ him. They were so happy because _they _didn't feel pain or sadness or rejection... they were treated so kindly by him, and he had told them they were loved when he was a boy. They had heard the words, and took amusement in the fact that he never did.

"_Stop!_" he screamed at the toys, swinging his leg and disrupting the neat line they once laid in. The plush dolls scattered throughout the room and joined his strewed blocks. But he heard what sounded like a squeak as they spread, and he flinched. Was he hallucinating? One of the dolls, a Darumaka, wobbled to its feet and looked up at him. N screamed and tripped back, losing his footing and falling onto his bottom.

"Daru...?" N squeaked, his teary eyes wide from surprise. The pokemon chattered and ran towards him, but stumbled and fell over. N ran to his friend and picked him up in his arms.

"Ohh Daru, I'm so sorry!" he wailed, holding it tight. He was crying again, feeling his self-loathing flare as he realized his blunder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you...! I just..." N began sobbing; his breaths came out in hiccuped gasps as he struggled to form words. "I'm so sorry... I can't do anything right...!"

N felt small arms embrace him, taking care not to touch his wounds. He looked down and saw his friend clinging to his chest, nuzzling him. The pokemon gave off a slight heat that comforted him. The child wrapped his arms around its round body. The bitter tears now trickled faster. N could not quite pinpoint why; logic had failed him. Never had they fallen without a source of pain or sadness or frustration.

"I'm sorry I'm so flawed, Daru," he choked out, holding it closer to his chest, relishing the warmth he felt in their embrace.

"Just please... let me prove that I'm doing the best I can..."


End file.
